Biography of Anita Wisniewska
Started writing at age 18 or so.
Caused by inability to communicate as most others seem to. Or a link to the metaphysical world?
Creativity finds me rather than vice versa.
Later poems at least have happy endings, or point to some kind of salvation. My 'Shadow' or negative poems are prefixed with a 'z' so as to relegate them to the back page.
I have a B.A. in French/Russian from LSE, London UK.
Both parents dead, my father was a Spitfire pilot who came to Uk in WW2. My mother a poor, sad, kind, impoverished English gentlewoman of good family. I have one son.
I also write songs, on Myspace and Youtube, under the name 'Bonjazza'.
I live in a small rented flat in London, but my love is the countryside, horse riding once a week keeps misery at bay.
Have worked in education as tutor, teaching assistant, English to foreigners teacher.
My Poemhunter experience: what you read is actually a reflection of yourself: gravitate to misery, and you will get more of the same; gravitate to joyful poem titles, and you will find more happiness.
I've met some very interesting and lovely people on the site from all over the world! Fantastic! Long live Poemhunter.
updated 01 March 2009.
Anita Wisniewska's Works:
Souledout.org kind enough to have put one of my efforts on a page, 'Bunny Hollow'
Anita Wisniewska Poems
The song of the cat is Survive, survive
Rose Lily was a very nice girl A very nice girl indeed
Whenever I'm alone It's never only me
A Mother's Advice
Don't cry Golden-haired daughter,
We surf the ether (net! !)
Dream Of The Angel
Dream of the angel Just for a while Be the angel Smile his smile
Devils are nasty and they stink They make you so angry
Last Swim Of The Year, Hampstead Pond
Water in autumn light Rolls silky, fat, gleaming
Treetops waving gently To the azure sky
Take me to that land Where everyone is beautiful
Horses Stamp, snort, clatter
Rainbow' s End I thought that I might be A cut above the rest But now it seems, you're telling me, I'm only second best
Dow Jones Blues
, . It's late at night, you can't sleep Your eyes are crossed you start to weep
Translation -A Quoi Ca Sert L'Amour
A quoi ça sert, l’amour? Oh what's the use of love On raconte toujours That falls from heav'n above Des histoires insensées When those fine tales you hear A quoi ça sert d’aimer? Can only bring you tears
All that pain